


I heard the March birds singing, and oh, what a beautiful sound.

by emonerd_io



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: (not really but i don't know what to tag this with), Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Fluff, Inspired by Shigatsu wa Kimi no Uso | Your lie in April, M/M, Mentions of terminal illness, PBB, PBB5, Phandom Big Bang, Phandom Big Bang 2017, Physical Disability, Pining, Swearing, Violinist Phil, Wheelchairs, idk what to tag lmao, mentions of death (of someone already dead), mentions of vague chronic illness, musician au, pianist Dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-07 03:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12832143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emonerd_io/pseuds/emonerd_io
Summary: Inspired by the anime 四月は君の嘘 (Your Lie in April)!The piano initiated the opening chords, and she drew the melody out in simple, yet alluring and complex lines. It’s a tune Dan did not recognise, but fell in love with immediately. Deep, and filled with a certain longing, yet tragically beautiful.It’s the type of music that allows you to fathom why exactly some people practise for years and for decades, trying to master their craft, just to play something so modest and stark, yet so exquisite.This is the story of two young musicians, Dan and Phil, and how their lives became entwined over the course of one year in high school.





	1. Blumenlied

**Author's Note:**

> **Written for PBB5 2017:) This thing took me freaking forever, so I hope it's at least adequate!**
> 
> Here's the incredible art for the fic! (It's so amazing aaah)  
> [link](http://doodlesfromthepit.tumblr.com/post/167874235916/even-if-he-doesnt-love-him-back-he-can-always)
> 
> And here's a playlist I made that includes (almost) all the songs featured in this fic :)  
> [link](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLcnm65U5qXnNZvGmWP89zHQ0wNVyRsDp5)

_A boy, looking not older than him, sauntered towards the piano, almost tripping over the cables strewn across the shiny wooden floor. His face was hidden behind thick, wide-framed glasses, his shoulders were caving in over themselves and, even from this distance, you can see the way his hand trembled ever so slightly, revealing all the butterflies and nerves he carried within himself._

__

_The boy gripped the piano to steady himself, then smiled sheepishly at the audience._

____

_He gave an awkward bow, and was met with some light chuckles and encouraging (or slightly mocking) applause._

_____ _

_Phil was literally about to fall out of his wheelchair, his eyes drooping so much he could probably fall asleep this very instant._

______ _ _

_The boy sat down, adjusted his glasses, and blinked owlishly at the key of the piano, as if it was the first time he’s seen this instrument, let alone play it. The audience was filling with quiet murmurs, and the loud, almost-audible heartbeat of the little boy._

_______ _ _ _

_Then he shook himself off, taking a deep breathe. His stubby fingers found the keys, and the audience held their breath._

________ _ _ _ _

_Then the first note rang out, filling the entire space of the concert hall, echoing with such a colourful tone._

_________ _ _ _ _ _

_Phil jolted awake with a start, all traces of drowsiness gone. And after a second or two, his eyes started glimmered with indescribable joy, a sheen of what could only be described as tears of amazement springing from the round, blue orbs._

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_What a beautiful sound he was hearing just right now._

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_The boy played with such ease and familiarity, like he was never once nervous in the first place. He looked very smart to Phil, all dressed up prim and proper in his tiny grey suit. His chestnut brown hair glimmered under the harsh white lights of the stage. The melody spun like thread, the thinnest and finest of silks with the prettiest of hues. His fingers weaved across the monochromatic keys, the notes seeming to take on lives of their own. The entire world seemed to have come to a standstill, mesmerised by this young wonder on the piano._

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Flowers seemed to spring up on the stage, the different colours of the petals ranging from the bright red of poppies to the midnight blue of irises. Turtledoves and sparrows spread their wings under the azure sky, and together they were all singing out in chorus about the joys of spring: the golden sunshine, the silver rain, and the bronze beauty of the moon. A painting, a masterpiece, worthy of van Gogh’s recognition._

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Then, as abruptly as it started, the piece ended._

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_The audience was quiet._

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_After a moment of shock that seemed to last for hours, the hall erupted into whistles, cheers, and furious, palm-stinging, ear-ringing applause. The boy- no, the musician gleamed under all the attention, and with shaking fists, bowed again to the success of delivering what message he was meant to send out today._

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_The message fell onto the lips of every parent in the hall, every music critic in the vicinity, and every music lover on Facebook._

_________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“A star is born!”_

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. The Pianist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy has hair as dark as the black keys of the piano, shrouding half of his face in shadow. And even though his skin is so pale it's almost sickly, his face is positively glowing with the radiance of a flower that has just bloomed. Although he is clad in loose-fitting sweats, Dan can tell that he’s extremely lanky and willowy. He’s not even sure if the guy could even hold a violin, let alone play it.
> 
> Oh, and he is also sitting in a wheelchair. As he wheels himself to front of the classroom, he flashes a striking grin at everyone in the room.
> 
>  _What a damn weirdo_ , Dan thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: straight-ness ahead
> 
> lmao this entire fic is pretty badly coordinated, and the quality rises and falls like a sine wave...

School’s starting, and Dan couldn’t be any less thrilled.

His carefully styled “first day hair” is blown into a curly mess not even five minutes after he left his home. He’s spent around three hours jabbing his index finger into his eyes while putting in his contact lenses (that aren’t as effective as his glasses, but are invisible, which is a perk). His bag’s also of considerable weight, since you have to bring almost everything to school on the first day because you don’t know your schedule yet. His uniform is a little tattered around the edges, but he couldn’t be bothered, really. It’s just going to be another year, of slaving away at scores and working his fingers sore from nights after nights of intense practicing. Not really something to look forward to. 

He gazes towards the park, where the large white swans beat their majestic wings, getting ready for migration. Maybe he should join them. It’s not too late to relive his life as a bird. 

Sighing, Dan trudges up the steps to his school, his fingers feeling a bit numb from the chill of the September wind. 

First day of his first year in highschool, and he feels like death. Great. 

  


“Daniel Howell, Daniel Howell of Class 9A, please come to the headmaster’s office. I repeat, Daniel Howell, please come to the headmaster’s office. Thank you” 

His two friends abruptly stop their heated debate about the versatility of the instruments of the woodwind family, and turns to him simultaneously, an ominous mood rising from identical knowing smirks. 

“Oooh, Daniel Howell, what have you done this time?” one says. 

“Maybe he’s been naughty, I heard he’s been neglecting his scales.” The other laughs. 

“Ah, that might be it. BUT- recently he’s also been cheating on the piano with his new obsession, the Irish Tin Whistle, huh?” 

“Tough. What a playboy he is.” 

“Why must he be in our class? He’s gonna steal all the girls away from us.” 

“We will have to put up with him for yet another year, huh.” 

“How sad-” 

“For god’s sake, Chris,” Dan glares at aforementioned friend, “PJ,” he turned to his other friend, both whom are trying, but failing, to keep their faces straight. He shook his head slowly, muttering dramatically, “Why did I make friends in the first place, I wonder.” 

“I wonder how, too,” Chris shoots back cheekily, earning him another death glare. 

Dan exhales, glancing at the clock, “Well, guess I gotta go. Tell Ms Furaha that I will be late for compo,” he calls over his shoulder as he exits the classroom. 

“She wouldn’t mind anyways, she loves ya anyways! Teacher’s pet!” 

Why, he despairs again. 

  


“Well, well, look who we have here,” a warm voice greets him as he enters the room. 

Dan takes out the stool from underneath the desk, sits down, and turns to the man, “I mean, what a pleasant surprise. You invited me here.” 

The headmaster chuckles earthily, adjusting his nameplate, which reads ‘Mr Nora, Headmaster of Momo Music Academy’. He pours them both some hot cocoa, and settles down behind the desk. Dan mumbles a thanks, taking this as a sign that he would be staying here for a while, and sips his cocoa appreciatively. 

They sit in stretched silence for a few minutes, until Mr Nora spoke up. 

“It’s good to see a familiar face, eh? It’s gonna get lonely being cooped up here for the rest of the term,” he jokes good-naturedly, sending Dan into a fit of sniggers. 

After Dan composes himself, his curiousity got the better of him, “Um, Mr Nora? Why am I here, exactly, and not in Compositional Studies? Is there anything you need?” 

Mr Nora sighs, and leans forward towards Dan. He tends to do this a lot, no matter how trivial the situation. He rubs his palms together slowly, “There’s this student who will be joining us starting this term. A violinist named Philip. He’s... a bit of a gem, I must say.” 

Though in a low voice that Dan cannot make out, the man retorts to himself, “And I find that you two would make quite the pair...” 

“So?” Dan remains confused. So what? Does he want Dan to roll out the carpets for this apparent new ‘gem’? What’s going on? 

The headmaster rests a calloused hand on his shoulder, and Dan grins. Mr Nora has always been a little more on the touchy side, but Dan’s had more than seven years of experience with him (he even played a concerto under his baton once, not to brag), so he’s pretty used to it. “As a student who had been studying here for-” Mr Nora chuckles, “quite a while, Dan, I would like for you to be his ‘buddy’, in a sense, and welcome him warmly to our school. He would be arriving in your class in a few moments,” he says warmly. 

“Sure thing, I guess,” Dan shrugs, feeling relieved he doesn’t actually need to roll out the carpets for this new guy. He stands up, turning to the door. 

“However-” Dan whips back towards Mr Nora. 

“Be sure not to let... just remember that your job is just to show him around, and that you are not required to assist him in every aspect of his school life, okay? Don’t feel like you’re carrying a huge burden by doing this, okay?” 

Dan furrows his brows, “Of course, I’m not going to be instant best friends with someone I’ve never met before, right?” 

The headmaster’s face has relaxed, but his eyes are serious. 

“Nice doing business with you, Howell.” 

  


The new guy is to be in all of his classes, except for his one-on-one piano tutoring in the afternoons. Not to brag, but Dan’s class is know to be the “elite” class, where local prodigies and national stars all study music together. So if this new guy’s gonna be in his class, then that leaves two possibilities: either his family’s filthy rich and his parents bribed (the gullible) Mr Nora with money or something of that sort, or he is just extremely talented. 

It’s probably the latter, judging from the way Mr Nora spoke of him (a gem, he said?). That strikes an odd chord with Dan, making him all the more curious about this new guy. What’s he look like? Does he like Saint-Saens, or is he more of a Beethoven guy? Does he prefer buying the scores with the books, or does he just print off online pdf files? And why is Mr Nora so concerned about Dan feeling burdened with the task of taking care of a new student? He just needs to show him around and answer any queries that he might have, nothing much. 

The questions twitter around in his head, pestering Dan throughout the first thirty minutes of lesson, and his favorite lesson too, Compositional Studies. So much so that Chris and PJ are shooting him concerned glances (even though he doesn’t really notice, what with that faraway look in his eyes). 

Then, he arrives. Dan’s bored glance poorly disguises his curiosity. 

And his eyes widen. 

The boy has hair as dark as the black keys of the piano, shrouding half of his face in shadow. And even though his skin is so pale it's almost sickly, his face is positively glowing with the radiance of a flower that has just bloomed. Although he is clad in loose-fitting sweats, Dan can tell that he’s extremely lanky and willowy. He’s not even sure if the guy could even hold a violin, let alone play it. 

Oh, and he is also sitting in a wheelchair. As he wheels himself to front of the classroom, he flashes a striking grin at everyone in the room. 

What a damn weirdo, Dan thinks. 

  


“Okay guys, who can volunteer to share what they’ve just been working on to the class?” asked Ms Furaha. Dan scanned the classroom from where he is sitting at the front of the classroom. Coast is clear, as per usual. Not a second to iste, his hand shot up, and Ms Furaha turned towards him, a dazzling smile gracing her expression. 

Now get this. Ms Furaha is a vivacious young woman in her early twenties, who wears bonny skirts and cute glasses, and speaks in an endearing Spanish accent, even though she’s from South Africa. The entire class is both nerved and enthralled by her, especially Dan. The first time he presented his composition to the class last year, she praised him on his “beguiling style” and “exemplary attention to detail”, whatever that means. 

Dan is convinced he’s in love. 

And oh, how he wants to hear those sweet compliments fall from her exotic beak! His current creation is not the best he’s written, but it’ll do. He’s also made sure to try and incorporate some of the fancy techniques he’s just picked up on during the summer when he went to visit his father in his workplace in Vienna, and that will definitely impress her as well. The new student is sitting beside him, so he also wants to prove his eminence to the new face in the room. 

Speaking of which, Ms Furaha is making her way towards his desk. Dan frantically tries to calm his racing heart as he lowers his raised hand, attempts to sit up straighter, and puffs out his chest subtly. 

He can almost smell the perfume on her now, she’s right in front of him. He refreshes his composition software one last time. He looks up, ready to meet her eyes. 

But their eyes don’t meet. Her gaze slides right past Dan like he’s butter, and lands on someone to his left. 

“Phil, you’re the new student here in this class. Why don’t you come up, and let us hear what you’ve got.” 

Dammit. 

Phil perks up eagerly beneath his fringe, and lowers his timid hand from above his head. He nestles his laptop into the awaiting arms of Ms Furaha, and; 

“Oh look! I can sense sometime pretty exciting and spicy just by looking at it. This should be great,” the woman’s tongue rolls with the ‘r’ in the last syllable as she winks charmingly at Phil. 

And all Dan could do is bring his left knuckles into his right palm, and grind it with all the emotions that he’s feeling now. It made an unsatisfying crick. 

God dammit. 

Ms Furaha plugs Phil’s laptop into the sound system, and the computer generated violin noise began to play a tune. Unaccompanied. Jaunty. Playful and a little bit wild. Then suddenly, the maracas and drums kick in, turning it into a feisty tarantella with an addictive melody. Everyone begins to nod along to the pulsating rhythm, and Dan would be lying if he says he doesn’t enjoy it. 

Safe to say, it was good. And it’s clear Ms Furaha thinks so too. She even gave him a fucking sticker after the piece was over. Dan is fuming inside. He was the only one who had a sticker given to him, and that was from weeks of slaving over what he considers to be his finest work- but no, it’s just Phil’s first day, and he’s getting the sticker. 

God fucking damn fuck-it. 

  


As Dan is about to round the corner into the main hallway, he hears something interesting. He seems to have stumbled on a conversation between Phil and Louise, aka Violin Genius. Since Phil is now on his blacklist, and he’s already decided that he’s not going to bother with spending extra time with him even as his ‘buddy’, but still he’s curious about how this combo works. So he decides to eavesdrop on their conversation. He hides behind the wall, occasionally peeking out at the two. 

“Oh my god, Phil, that was amazing! Ms Furaha loves you!” Louise. Typical Louise, by the way. 

Phil ducked his head down, cheeks shining red with pleasure, “Wow- thanks... I guess? It’s really very fun to compose something like that, and it’s even more fun to listen to, isn’t it?” 

“I know right? And the techniques you wrote for that violin section- it’s super impressive! Do you compose often? Did you take some masterclass or something?” 

Violinists sure have a lot of energy, Dan thinks to himself drowsily. 

“Um… actually, I’ve only tried my hand at composing since last year, but I found it very fun and stimulating! I play the violin, so the techniques are just some that I like to improvise with, and I felt like they would fit in with the dancing mood I was trying to create.” 

Louise’s almond-shaped eyes are now the size of coconuts. “For a year?! Seriously?! I have been studying composition for ten years! Since I was six! And I’m nowhere as good as you are!” 

Louise is almost as good as Dan in composition, and Dan even admitted that to her out loud before. 

“No way, thank you so much! Oh, you’re so nice!” Phil gushes, wheeling himself closer to her, “ What’s your name?” 

“Call me Louise! I’m also a violinist, so I guess we can now talk lots and lots about how awesome violins are and stuff!” 

“That sounds great! But if you don’t mind, I’ve really got to get to my next lesson now.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m free now, so I can show you the way to your classroom too! What class?” Louise goes to grip the push handles of his wheelchair, and releases the brakes. 

Phil checks his schedule. “World music, 707.” 

“Let’s go!” Louise shrieks with glee, as she propels Phil and his wheelchair as fast as she can (without hurting him), and they disappear around the corner, merry noise and all. 

After witnessing the scene, and recalling the ‘incident’ that happened in class with Ms Furaha, Dan then settled on three things. 

One, Phil’s smile is probably the most plastic, fake thing he had ever seen. It’s like he’s never smiled before, and he’s just read an instruction manual on how to do it. Because no one smiles that many times, and no one smiles that wide to a complete stranger, and no one smiles so perfectly, so consistently every time. 

Two, Phil tries way too hard. Just because he’s new, he’s all like I’m such a big shot. He probably wants to steal Ms Furaha from Dan. What a little shit. 

Three, he’s definitely using his disability to gain friends, that scheming bastard. Louise is a good person, and he’s wrapped her around his little finger, just like that. Wheelchair or not, he’s just nasty. 

Dan sneers at his own thoughts, and turns to walk the other way. The shortcut.


	3. The Violinist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I guess I’ll find out, huh?” 
> 
> About the PPP:  
>  The Peer Performance Project is unavoidable for all ninth graders, where you and your partner would have to perfect and produce a public performance of professional quality by the week of the cultural festival. Then you both would perform in the town hall (a block away from the academy), in front of your family and classmates, along with music critics and scouts alike. It’s a wonderful opportunity that can decide or destroy your fate as a musician, a chance that you would not have again until graduation. Everyone would be working hard for it, for themselves and their future. 
> 
> For Phil, it meant he could think about not living his life as a rusted shell of a musician. He will use this opportunity to show his parents, and the rest of world, what he can do, and what he will become. He will spread his wings and ascend into the world. 
> 
> There is just one main rule concerning this project. 
> 
> _“You must aim to move everyone in the room with your music,”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha! Switching POVs! Yes, the point of view shifts from one lovely nerd to another every chapter! Text in italics can automatically be assumed to be part of a flashback! I am so disorganised it's funny!
> 
> Onwards with the story in Phil's POV!

_When he was younger, around three or four years old, Phil sometimes wished he could run around, playing with the other children after school was over. Instead, he was trapped in the confinement of his room, scribbling in his mickey mouse coloring book, wishing his legs weren’t what they were, and were actually working, normal legs._

__

_Legs are supposed to support the body, and help it move around. Legs are supposed to let their owner do all sorts of fun three year-old things, like playing tag, skip rope, and learning how to cycle. Not trap them inside a chair permanently, letting them gather dust like untouched books on a shelf._

__

_That was until his parents got him a violin._

__

_The violin was by no means a good violin. It was sized ⅛, and painted a plain shade of khaki. But Phil loved it so very much, from the scroll at the very top to the tailpiece._

__

_His parents were mild fans of classical music, and would bring out the old cassette and play Beethoven or Brahms once in a blue moon._

__

_One day, they took young Phil to a concert. And although he sat at the very back of the auditorium, bound to his wheelchair, the effect was still noticeable as the boy almost literally skipping home, wheeling his chair and humming the very tune he heard that day. Seeing their son so enthusiastic about something brought some hope to the Lesters, as they wished Phil would find joy in something. And it seemed that, that something is music._

__

_So when they saw the dusty violin case left next to the salvation army donation station next to the bus stop, and found the violin inside it in perfectly working condition, they didn’t hesitate. They brought it home, hoping to ignite some light behind the blinds drawn in their son’s eyes._

__

_And it worked. Phil was observably happier than he had been in years, fiddling with the bow and strings with excitement, until in a week he could draw out a few simple tunes that he learnt to sing from TV, like “twinkle twinkle little star” and “hot cross buns”, and he would play the same melody again and again, like a broken record._

__

_Until a day in March, his mother got sick of hearing the same chicken scratch of dry hair on string every day. Then he started attending lessons._

__

_And so Phil’s adventures as a violinist began._

__  


Phil blows a raspberry as the young birch trees whizz past his car window. Second day of attending Momo Academy, and he’s already pretty worn out. Who knows how the rest of the year would go? 

His case? In the trunk along with his wheelchair. His scores? In his backpack. His nutritious breakfast of fried bananas? Nestled in the paper towel he is holding. 

As the car comes to a stop in front of a red light, Phil’s pocket vibrates, and a ping that signals an incoming text message. His mother, who is driving, turns to look at him in surprise. 

He never gets texts, apart from daily reminders from his parents when they occasionally go out for long business trips, leaving him at home with his neighbour. This is definitely a first. He never had many friends, so he didn’t really have anyone to talk to, let alone text to. 

Feeling a little dazed himself, Phil unlocks his phone, to find 3 texts, waiting to be opened. 

glitterlou: hey phil this is louise :)  
glitterlou: but if this not u tho this is embarrassing and im sorry :P  
glitterlou: oh yea today is ORCHESTRA AUDITIONS!!!!! EXCITED??? I AMMM  


He smiles at the enthusiasm that she seems to have for everything, and hastily replies. 

Phillip Michael Lester: Hi Louise! I can’t wait too! I also brought my violin with me today, so I look forward to playing together soon! If I manage to get in. I’ve never been in an orchestra before...  


As Louise is replying, he thinks, oh golly, I’ve made a friend! This is so cool! 

glitterlou: wtf phil ur even using proper punctuation  
glitterlou: and ur middle name is michael?? AHAAHAHHAAAAAAA  
glitterlou: btw dont worry abt auditions ur gunna ace it man XD  


Phillip Michael Lester: Thanks? You type real weird, Louise, and it’s actually a little hard to understand you you mean, haha.  
Phillip Michael Lester: What do “wtf” and “btw” even mean? What is :), :p and xd?  


glitterlou: omg  
glitterlou: wtf is what the fuck  
glitterlou: btw is by the way  
glitterlou: :) is a smiley face  
glitterlou: :P is tongue sticking out  
glitterlou: XD is a crazy laughing face  
glitterlou: come on philip michael lester ru living under a rock?  
glitterlou: its ok tho bro  
glitterlou: i will teach you everything you need to know abt texting  


Phillip Michael Lester: I am laughing now, thanks Louise.  
Phillip Michael Lester: We have an assembly today for the ninth grade, right  


glitterlou: I am laughing now?? oh god phil lmaoo i luv u  
glitterlou: YASSSSS LET’S SIT TOGETHER!!! I’M WAITING FOR YOU OUTSIDE THE ASSEMBLY HALL!!!  


Phillip Michael Lester: Ok! I’m on my way now.  
Phillip Michael Lester: Love you too!  
Phillip Michael Lester: :)  


glitterlou: thats the way my sonny :)))  


Phil beams widely, and turns back to look out the window. His mom is so amazed by his smile, she misses when the light turns green again, until some angry honks shake her out of her trance. 

“Who’s that?” she whispered as she steps on the gas pedal and the car lurches forwards. 

“My classmate, Louise,” he whispered back. 

“A friend?” 

“I guess… we hit it off pretty well, so yes. A friend.” 

The word trembles with a little too much emotion for someone his age, he knows, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. 

“A friend.” 

When he turns to grin at her, her expression mirrors his. 

  


After his mom dropped him off at the back entrance, and he waved her off to work, he goes to meet Louise outside, and soon finds himself sitting beside her in the aisles of the auditorium. It’s his second time in the auditorium, after the opening ceremony, but he still finds himself amazed at the size and grandeur of the space inside. The red curtains that frames the large stage are classy and velvety, and the walls of the auditorium are painted black, with framed golden paintings of famous composers lining both sides. 

As the remaining 9th graders finish to filing in, the audience dims, and Mr Nora enters from the wings. He pads towards the podium in measured steps, and takes the mic. 

“Good morning my fellow colleagues, and the rest of you lovely students,” he beams. The room erupts into cheers and miscellaneous greetings, and Mr Nora waits patiently as the students start to shush one another, and the excitement dies down. 

He clears his throat. “It’s the September the 7th, a week since the beginning of the school year. For those who are new to Momo, I hope you all have been making yourself at home and enjoying your time here. And for those who have been with us for a while, you all know what to expect now.” 

Eager murmurs arouse the crowd, and Phil looks around in confusion. When he turns to Louise for answers, all he gets in reply is a twinkle in her eye. 

“Get ready for…” Mr Nora pauses for dramatism, “the PPP!” 

The hall erupts in claps in response, and a few whistles come from the back. 

“What,” Phil mutters as he looks around. He feels utterly confused. 

“The Peer Performance Project may not sound exciting, but it’s one of the highlights of being in ninth grade! Or, so the previous cohorts have claimed. Your teachers will brief you in more detail on a later date, but basically, you have to find a partner, and produce a public performance of professional quality, by the time of the cultural festival in March. That’s half a year! Are you up for this?” Mr Nora grins expectantly at the sea of students- no, aspiring musicians. 

“Yes!” 

“Then you’re all dismissed. Head to your classes now!” 

  


His ‘buddy’ turns out to be extremely vexatious. 

Throughout the first lesson (The study of counterpoint, module 1), he was humming some random tune (probably Tchaikovsky by the sound of it), drumming the desk incessantly, doodling in his notebook, and acting very disturbingly. Sometimes, after the teacher said something that could be taken even the least bit suggestively, he would turn to Chris behind him with this annoying grin, and whisper something like, “Did you know why Bach doesn’t have a piano? Because he was Ba-roque.” 

Then Dan would leer, and wait for everyone’s reaction. Usually, he is met with blank stares, but that didn’t seem to discourage him at all. In fact, Phil thinks he is feeding off their indifference. What a weirdo. 

This time though, Phil had to suppress a grin, but that didn’t mean anything, nope. 

Not funny. Not funny at all. 

Throughout the next few weeks, his experiences with Dan are not as pleasant, unfortunately. 

Firstly, in composition, Dan has obviously been trying to outdo him in everything regarding pleasing Ms Furaha. Every lesson passes with one snarling in anger as Mr Furaha showers the other in compliments. By the first Friday, both have earned another one sticker each. Phil even stayed until 3am yesterday composing his “exercise piece”, until he almost passed out in exhaustion (before his father found him trying to wedge his eyes open and sentenced him to bed). 

Secondly, in orchestra. Phil managed to pass the auditions, and he is assigned as a first violinist. He is thrilled to play in an orchestra, and would like to treasure this wonderful experience! The problem is that sitting at the back of the first violins meant he is only a metre and a half away from the keyboardist behind him. Between breaks when working on Ravel’s Bolero - typical repertoire material- he could feel Dan’s glare permeating from behind the celeste. Once, when Phil turned around to fetch his rosin, he (accidentally) caught Dan’s eye. And what did he do? He stuck his tongue out at him! How old is he even? Phil was about to parrot him, but Louise turned around at that time too, and found him glowering at Dan. She was pretty confused, but Phil convinced her it was nothing to worry about (of course, he isn’t going to trouble her with his troubles). 

They even glare at each other as they pass in the hallways. Once, he thinks Dan even sneered at him as he exited the washroom. Chris and PJ, who were accompanying him, shared mildly concerned looks, dipping their heads slightly towards Phil as if to apologize for their friend’s behaviour. 

Phil doesn’t really see any reason behind this than just Dan’s plain immaturity and foolishness. They’re picking a fight over Dan’s ego, which is such a silly reason. Even both their friends are getting involved in this “feud”. 

This is getting ridiculous, Phil thinks as he wheels himself out of the lift, maneuvering in and out of the body of students filing out of the school buildings. 

A sudden bump jolts his violin case, and he tightens his grip on the strap to stop his precious violin from crashing to the ground. Phil isn’t hurt or really affected by the bump, just caught off guard. His wheelchair screeches to a stop as he pulls the brakes, and he breathes a sigh of relief, carefully adjusting the case in his lap. 

“Oh dear, sorry~” an obnoxious voice rings from above. Phil shifts his sights towards the source of that voice, and- oh, speak of the devil. Why isn’t he surprised? 

“Apologize more sincerely,” tuts PJ from behind Dan, giving him a meaningful look. 

Dan rolls his eyes and Chris snickers, giving PJ a jab on how he’s turning their batty old mother the more he ages, and PJ purses his lips. 

“I’m sorry, I guess,” Dan drawls with a glint in his eye. 

He is definitely not sorry, and for some reason, even though Phil tries not to let it get to him, it gets to him. It really, really gets to him. 

Dan leans down towards him, causing his blood to boil in frustration, “I humbly apologize for almost knocking your ratty, old, precious violin baby, Phil Lester. I will bear in mind to take extra care in the future and-” 

“Pardon me, Dan Howell, but are you five?” 

Dan stops short and turns towards him. PJ and Chris are silent as well, PJ with his laugh stifled behind the sleeve of his jacket, and Chris with his eyes widened comically as he takes in the scene before them. 

“Never mind that I’m disabled, but you’re just trying to pick a fight with me, aren’t you?” Phil snarls, “Is it because I’m the new kid in a preppy music school? Is it because of my scholarship? Is it because I’m just so physically unpleasing? Is it because you want to impress your friends?” 

Chris lefts out a huge guffaw behind Dan, “Nah! He’s such a lame-o, and me and Peej have given up on him. Amiright, dickhead?” Dan elbows him in the gut, and he staggers back with PJ, shaking with laughter as he clutches at him. Phil smirks, and turns back to Dan, sitting up straight to meet his eyes. 

“Also, I hate when people lean down to talk to me. Do you even know what respect is? Did your mother forget to teach you about that?” 

Dan’s face froze mid-sneer. PJ’s eyes widens a fraction, and he steps between the two, pushing Dan back towards Chris, and resting a hand on Phil’s shoulder, “Sorry dude, but he’s usually not that much of an asshole. I hope things can become better for the both of you soon.” 

Then the three of them shuffle out of the school gates together, bickering and chatting away again. 

Phil sighs, and continues to busy himself with navigating his way home. 

  


Once he got home, he drops his items off in his room, and let out a giant yawn. He stretches a bit and then picks out his pyjamas for tonight. 

He wheels himself to the bathroom, and hobbles onto the toilet seat cover, removing his clothes slowly, being careful not to twist his legs as he does so. 

He clambers into the bathtub as carefully as possible, using his arms to lift himself over the ledge best he can. His head is starting to spin a little. He pays no mind to that, as he always feel slightly light headed if he overexerts his arm muscles too much. 

Suddenly, his arm spasms, and, with a thunderous crash and eyes squeezed shut, he falls face first into the bathtub. 

  


When he eventually opens his eyes, he’s facing the ceiling. Not just any ceiling, but one lit with slightly emerald tinted fluorescent lighting. A quite familiar ceiling. 

To Phil, at least. 

His scalp tingles again, and he closes his eyes once more. 

  


He is later woken by the harsh afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. 

His mother is sitting beside him, and she smiles wearily down at him, and she offers him some fruit. 

He is about to sit up to greet her properly, but even the slightest action makes him break into a cold sweat, so he gives up and remains horizontally positioned. 

His arms feel so sore… He’s so tired… 

  


The next day, his mother drove Phil to school again. He feels fine, refreshed, even. He’s been through worse. At least, he didn’t faint like he did once last summer, in the middle of the streets, surrounded by pedestrians, falling forwards and getting a nasty scratch on the side of his skull. 

Louise seems happy to see him, and she doesn’t inquire about his disappearance much, to his immense relief. She does seem a little concerned though, but she probably wrote is off as a “disabled person thing”, to put it in frank terms. 

His lessons follow as usual, although Dan seems to be a little less bothersome than he has been two days ago. Phil felt slightly off without the constant glaring and jeering during classes, but he is going to take the minimal disturbance as a good sign. The classes passed in a blur, but at least he scribbled down some notes in history to decipher later at home. 

  


“Um... what?” Phil he draws out the first word as he raises an eyebrow at the person. 

Dan has stopped him outside their classroom after their first period (at least he doesn’t lean down this time). Phil crosses his arms, bracing himself for what will come. 

“Um... the…” Dan clears his throat awkwardly, “We got to choose our pair for the Peer Performance Project, and since you weren’t here yesterday, everyone’s already paired off with each other. Since nobody wants to play with me...” his voice seems to grow smaller and smaller as he trails off, and refuse to meet Phil’s eyes. 

Phil’s eyebrow inches towards his hairline once more, “Why? You’re in a famous music school right? And for a long time, Mr Nora told me. You seem to have loads of friends as well. You’ve got to be good, or at least, decent. From what I’ve heard, you can even hold a tune.” 

Dan seems even more put off by this. He shifts from one foot to another, eyes boring into the wall behind Phil’s head. “Because they are scared of playing with me, apparently, so I guess...” Dan shrugs, twirling a strand of hair behind his ear self-consciously. Phil could even dare to say he looks... flustered? 

No, but that can’t be. That’s Dan, the infuriating little bastard, and he’s as up his mom’s ass as he is up his own ass. 

Realising he’s been silent for too long, and that Dan is now chewing his nails a little unhealthily (especially for a pianist), Phil clears his head full of rude thoughts and heaves a sigh. 

“I guess I’ll find out, huh?” 

  


About the PPP:  
The Peer Performance Project is unavoidable for all ninth graders, where you and your partner would have to perfect and produce a public performance of professional quality by the week of the cultural festival. Then you both would perform in the town hall (a block away from the academy), in front of your family and classmates, along with music critics and scouts alike. It’s a wonderful opportunity that can decide or destroy your fate as a musician, a chance that you would not have again until graduation. Everyone would be working hard for it, for themselves and their future. 

For Phil, it meant he could think about not living his life as a rusted shell of a musician. He will use this opportunity to show his parents, and the rest of world, what he can do, and what he will become. He will spread his wings and ascend into the world. 

There is just one main rule concerning this project. 

“You must aim to move everyone in the room with your music,” 


	4. 1st Movement- Allegretto ben moderato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _His mother let out a short giggle of surprise, “One day? One day... someday, my dear, we will be standing together on the stage, and everybody, people from all around the world will listen to us. You’ll play the piano, while I play the violin. We’ll play this song together. And when we’re done, everyone will clap and cheer! We’ll be famous together!”  
> _
> 
>  
> 
> _Dan gazed up at the laughing face of his mother and grinned happily as he nodded in agreement, unable to decipher the slight tinge of sadness hidden behind her dark brown orbs...  
> _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter...  
> about the title: by first movement, I mean the first movement of the Franck sonata, which is the Important Piece™ of this fic, I guess  
> I chose that sonata mostly because I heard the last movement once on the bus radio, and I was like WOW o.0 Then I asked my music nerd friends, who told me it was the Franck sonata.  
> It's included on the playlist I made, so listen to it! It's really nice!!  
> Again, danks fur readin en all dat :)))

Phil is waiting for him in front of the school gates, wheelchair and violin case and all. It seems that he has gotten the note he’s left in his locker. Dan doesn’t bother really greeting him, just nodding in lieu of a hello, and motions for him to follow him. He raises his eyebrows as if to ask if he needs any help, but Phil just shakes his head and pushes himself along, violin case strung across the handlebars. 

They walk in silence (or, Dan walks as Phil moves in his wheelchair), until Phil decides to break it. 

“Why your home? Why not mine? I’m the disabled one here, right?” 

“Do you have a piano?” 

“Eh? No, we don’t...” 

Dan rolls his eyes, “Well, how do we play as a violinist and a pianist if I don’t have a piano to play with?” 

Phil opens and closes his mouth, then mock-swats him, and hmps indignantly. 

“My home doesn’t have room for a piano.” 

Dan snorts loudly, muttering “stupid” under his breathe, and Phil swats him, for real, this time. 

They both giggle lightly, bitterness seemingly forgotten. 

Then silence falls upon them again as they walk the rest of the way to Dan’s house, and the only sound they hear are the leaves crunching under their feet and the orioles warbling in the distance as they flap their wings, sailing into the horizon. 

Right after Dan opens the door to his house, a blurry figure came and knock into Dan’s knees. He picks up the mini missile and hugs her to his chest. The face of his little cousin Adam peers up at him in all his five year-old adorableness and cheekiness. 

“Hello,” Dan laughs, and Adam laughs back at him. 

His father is not far behind, waving at Dan to come in, until he spots Phil still outside. 

“Oh hey! Dan didn’t tell me he’s got a friend coming over today,” his father chides lightly, and goes to help Phil into the house, wiping the wheels of his wheelchair, “I would have searched for those embarrassing childhood photos if you gave me prior notice. I bet you’re dying to see them- um, what’s your name?” 

“Phil, sir.” 

“Yes! I bet Phil here would have enjoyed those photos very much, Dan. Didn’t PJ and Chris-” 

“Dad, stop!” Dan whines, and Adam echoes along. He catches a glimpse of Phil smiling softly from the corners of his vision, and he feel his ears turn red to the tip. He distracts himself with sorting out his belongings and carrying Adam to the sofa. 

“Do you need me to help you with that?” Dan gestures at the violin case as he leads Phil into the practice room, and Phil shook his head, cheeky slightly rosy. They both avoid the other’s gaze as they open up their instruments, and once Dan made himself comfortable in front of the piano, he turns to Phil, to find him staring at the wall, or more like, a picture on the wall. A photograph of his mother. 

“Diane Howell,” whispers Phil, as Dan approached him to stand beside him. 

Dan crinkles his brow, “You know her?” 

“I think my teacher showed me a few of her performances before. She’s really good, or so I remembered.” He pauses hesitantly, “That’s your mother?” The photo is pretty old, probably from when Dan was very young. She was posing energetically with her violin in front of the Sydney Opera House, possibly after a big show, hair cropped short and dressed in a beautiful lilac gown, a radiant smile on her face. He’s pretty sure he’s seen that dress before from one of her tours. 

“Yeah,” Dan smiles, “Or, at least, she was.” 

Phil whips towards Dan, “Was? Is she- Oh- I’m sorry. I mean, for what I said earlier. About the manners and all that stuff.” 

Dan smiles wearily, and waves him off, “Really, I don’t mind. I’ve been quite terrible to you too, so I guess we’re even now.” 

Phil hums a little, rolling closer towards the photo, “How’s she like? Your mother- she seems like a wonderful person.” 

His mother’s glazed eyes piece through him from beneath the film of the photo, and- oh, Dan remembers it now. 

  


_His father held him firmly in his lap as they sat on the first row of the grand concert hall. Dan was squirming around, like any rowdy three year old does. He watched the rest of the people file in, and looked at the darkened stage with curiosity._

__

_Then, the hall lights dimmed, and a spotlight shone onto the stage. The audience started to clap and cheer, muttering and chattering amongst themselves in hushed excitement._

__

_A familiar figure stepped out into the light, and Dan’s father tightened his hold on his child as they watched Diane Howell walk into the spotlight with another lady, sporting an elegant light purple gown. The lady played an A, and she tuned her violin._

__

_She raised her bow, and the audience fell silent, as if under a spell that she casted with her body._

____

_The piano initiated the opening chords, and she drew the melody out in simple, yet alluring and complex lines. It’s a tune Dan did not recognize, but fell in love with immediately. Deep, and filled with a certain longing, yet tragically beautiful._

_____ _

_The fine hairs of his mother’s Stradivarius ran across the steel strings, and the sounds overflow from the soundbox, tumbling and unravelling onto the shining stage, surrounding the perimeters of the vast concert hall._

______ _ _

_It’s the type of music that allows you to fathom why exactly some people practise for years and for decades, trying to master their craft, just to play something so modest and stark, yet so exquisite._

_______ _ _ _

_Dan didn’t know what it was exactly that drew him in, but he was determined that one day, some day, he would be able to play like her._

______  
_ _ _ _ _ _

“She was the one who inspired me to play music, you know,” Dan whispers, reaching out to gently stroke the plain wooden frames of the photo.

______  
_ _ _ _ _ _

_“Mama, what’s this song?” he asked with bubbly interest as he curled up against his mother on the sofa, who was listening to her concert CD as she took down some notes. She crinkled her eyes with mirth, and chuckled fondly._

_________ _ _ _ _ _

_“This is the Sonata in A minor for violin and piano, by César Franck. We call it the Franck sonata.”_

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“It’s beautiful,” Dan declared as he pursed his lips at her, “It’s so nice! You must play this more. So that one day, you’ll be ready to play with me when I play this with you.”_

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_His mother let out a short giggle of surprise, “One day? One day... someday, my dear, we will be standing together on the stage, and everybody, people from all around the world will listen to us. You’ll play the piano, while I play the violin. We’ll play this song together. And when we’re done, everyone will clap and cheer! We’ll be famous together!”_

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Dan gazed up at the laughing face of his mother and grinned happily as he nodded in agreement, unable to decipher the slight tinge of sadness hidden behind her dark brown orbs..._

Dan sighs, withdrawing his hands from the photo. He turns to Phil, who is still watching him patiently. 

“Sometimes, I still wish there’s a piano in heaven.” 

  


“So... we’ve got to choose a piece, huh?” Phil wheels toward the shelves next to the piano, running his hands down some of the selections. 

Dan squints at Phil in amusement. He’s already chosen the piece long ago, the moment he realised his partner is a violinist. 

“How about this?” Dan delicately slides the large sonata volume- filled with pieces that were included in his mother’s concert repertoire. It’s a book filled with memories, and he doesn’t know why he would even want to share something so precious to him with Phil, someone he’s scowled at for weeks. He couldn’t bring himself to think about it too much, and somehow, he feels playing with Phil will be... different. Different from what? He’s not too sure. 

When he passes the volume after flipping it to the specific page, he sets it on Phil’s lap and crosses his arms, slightly nervous of Phil’s reaction to his choice. Phil peers at it with interest, fingers running over the yellowed pages filled with decade-old annotations penciled in the margins. 

“... The Franck sonata? I’ve heard it somewhere before,” Phil says as he flips through the pages carefully, looking through the score, “It doesn’t look too bad. I think I can probably play this.” 

Dan blows a raspberry in exasperation. “You think? Phil, you made it to Momo through scholarship! I’m not going to believe you when you sprout crap like this, okay? Of course you can do it! So, nah or yeah?” 

Phil stares at him with his face void of emotion, then gradually, slowly, like a flower blooming in springtime, a delightful beam stretch across his features, making Dan’s heart beat just a tempo faster. And to Dan’s relief (which he tries to keep discret), he nods furiously. 

“Yeah!”

  


Dan and Phil got to down to business. They marked out the parts for practicing, then photocopied a copy of the score for Phil to bring home. Then they picked up their instruments, setting up the stool and tuning the strings accordingly. 

They sight-read through the first movement slowly, and Dan has no regrets as to choosing this sonata. Phil is quick to pick up melodic structure, and although they both trip up multiple times, Phil sounds incredible, and Dan enjoys playing with him. 

Although Phil’s tempo is a little too flexible and romantic to his usual playing, and Dan has to accommodate for some unexpected acceleration or elongated pauses, he finds that he actually quite enjoys it. The mood is also very different from his mother’s: his mother is all lightness and elegance and simple beauty, as is the characteristics of all music composed in the classical era; Phil’s is more dark and raw, more rough around the edges (not in terms of technical ability, but more in the way his bow rests more heavily on the strings), and more ugly, in a sense. 

Dan notices these little things as he plays, feeling more and more excited about the practice sessions to come. 

  


After practicing for an exhausting amount of time, the two stretched out onto Dan’s double bed in the next room, as Phil still has about an hour or so before his mother returns from work to pick him up. Although Phil has to awkwardly clamber out of his wheelchair to lie on his bed, the comfort of Dan’s mattress is definitely, definitely worth it. 

“Your mattress is so amazing,” Phil groans with satisfaction as he rolls around the sheets. Dan poks his side to make him shift to the side, making room for himself. 

They lie in the semi-darkness, as the sun starts to set beneath the landscape of mountains and valleys. In their worn out state, they chilled and chatted for an hour or so. 

“Wait, you’re younger than me?” Phil narrows his eyes at Dan suspiciously. 

He replies, “Yeah, I guess. Momo accepted me a year earlier than most of the others.” 

“Bet they really regretted that.” 

“Hey! Watch your mouth.” 

They both fell into giggles after that. 

“Wait,” Phil says, “don’t the elementary first-graders also have to do a performance in the city hall?” 

“Yeah. I remembered I almost peed my pants when I was performing as a kid,” Dan chuckles fondly at the memory. 

“I watched one of the performances, I remember,” Phil muses to himself, “I think that performance inspired me to start playing music.” 

“Wow,” Dan sucks in a deep breath, “It must be a dream come true then, to come to Momo Academy.” 

Phil sighs, “Yeah, well. It’s been a dream since I was young for me to go to school at all.” 

Dan props his head up to look at Phil in surprise, “You never went to school before Momo, you mean?” 

Phil grunts in confirmation, and Dan exhales awkwardly, “Wow. I’m sorry too, for ruining school for you. I’m such a prick sometimes.” 

“I’m not sorry that I called you annoying though. You are extremely annoying.” 

“Well, fuck.” 

“If you want me to.” 

Dan is glad the sun is almost fully hidden behind the horizon, because he could feel his cheeks heat up like wildfire. It’s not fair, he thought to himself. Phil, with his innocent smile, should not understand these things, let alone respond to something like that. 

It takes so much willpower for Dan to not look Phil in the eye to see his expression, because Dan really doesn’t want Phil to know that he is blushing over something he said. Not in a million years. Or at least, not yet. 

  


They part under the soft glow of evening, painted skies of sapphire clashing with the warm glow of the streetlamps. 

Phil sits in his mother’s car, waiting for her to finish packing up his wheelchair. Dan steps toward him slowly, sticking his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. He stops in front of Phil, and ducks his head a little to avoid Phil’s eyes. 

“Thanks for coming today,” Dan mumbles, looking towards the side. He fears if he looks at Phil directly, he might combust, for some reason. 

He couldn’t see Phil’s reaction, but hears a smile as he says, “Thanks for having me today. I really enjoy playing with you. We’re going to practice this like crazy, okay? We’re going to play like the pros!” 

And before he knew it, Phil’s mother starts the engine, and he’s waving at Dan through the car window. Dan watches him until the streetlights take over the reflection in the window, and he shuffles back into his house. 

His fingers feel so numb with cold, but his heart is burning up like crazy.


	5. 2nd Movement- Allegro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil watches as he polished off all the brownies in the Ziploc, and stuffs the Ziploc in his pocket to save the crumbs for later. “You’re only friends with me because you’re after my mom’s snacks, aren’t you?” Phil teases. 
> 
> “Who says I’m your friend? Maybe I’m only friends with your mom because of her delicious treats. You just come with the package,” Dan smirks, and deftly dodges immediately to avoid Phil’s indignant swat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha! A short chapter this time! I guess you can call it a _Phil_ er chapter :)  
> Italics can also be used for false memories (eg. fantasies ;)). just a heads up  
>  ~~I wrote this yesterday at 3 AM so yeah kill meh~~

_Dan’s eyes were mahogany under the yellow glow of the streetlights, drawing him in and making his heart thump wildly in his chest. And as Phil moved closer, he could make out the tiny freckles strewn across his dimpled cheeks. His hand moved on its own, to trace the soft skin of Dan’s jaw. Dan tensed up in for a fraction of a moment, then relaxed into his touch, leaning into Phil._

__

_His face was so close- too close, and Phil wondered if he should pull away._

__

_But then he realised, he didn’t want to pull away._

__

_His heart was beating so quickly, so loudly, that he wondered if Dan could hear him._

__

_Their lips were inches apart, and Dan’s lashes glinted in the lamplight as his eyes fluttered shut, and he whispered softly,_

__

_“Phil, I-”_

__  


“Phil! Breakfast’s ready!” his eyes open to the whiteness of the walls in his room and the idle blades of the ceiling fan. The remnants of that dream linger sluggishly in his semi-awakened state. 

He places his hand on his chest, feeling his heart pounding heavily from the vision he just had. “Did that just happen?” he asks himself. 

Phil jolts upright on his bed, instantly suffering the sharp winter coldness whip his bare torso. He did just dream that alright. He dreamt about kissing Dan. So does that means... 

“Do I like Dan?” Phil whispers to himself dumbly. 

  


His mother is not pleased when he clambers into the car ten minutes later than usual, hair unbrushed, face unwashed and uniform crumpled. She shuts the trunk and slips into her seat, turning on the engine. 

Her silence is unnerving, even for Phil, because she’s not one for silences, especially when she gets to spend time with her son. 

Phil sighs, and fiddles with the lint on his thick woollen sweater. 

He thinks about his dream, but he stops when he feels his face start to heat up. He thinks about his practice session with Dan yesterday, and all the previous practice sessions before that. When did he start wanting to touch Dan? When did he start wanting to spend all his time with him? 

They’ve been practising for a few months now, and it’s starting to come together quite well. Dan is skilled and blemish-free, as expected of a musician’s child. He’s surprisingly agreeable with the music, and would willingly compromise with Phil whenever there is a dispute over some stylistic elements. 

As for the sonata, Phil loves it. It’s beautiful and emotional and heavenly. Truly a work of art. 

Perhaps, somewhere along the way, he’s came to appreciate Dan as a person, and not some annoying, needy freak. 

Yeah right, he huffs to himself. 

A chime signals a message, and he unlocks his phone to check who is it. 

  


danhowdy: mornin sunshine :))) 

  


Oh. It’s Dan. 

  


Phillip Michael Lester: Good morning Dan!  
Phillip Michael Lester: I’m on my way, sorry for making you wait.  


danhowdy: no probs mah dude ill b waiting at the back 

Phillip Michael Lester: Okay! XD 

  


He sighs happily. Dan has also been meeting up with him in the morning to talk to his mother (who would bring some food for him on occasion), help him out of his car and into his wheelchair, carry his violin to his lessons, and generally banter around. 

You know it’s good when you’ve gotten to the stage of bantering. 

He spots Dan a little down the way, hanging in front of the school gates as he scrolls through his phone. His lips lift up gently at something, and Phil’s heart flutters a little. 

When he spots Phil’s car, his cheeks crinkled adorably, and he waves at them in excitement until their car rolled to a halt. 

“Hey auntie! Hi Phil!” Dan grins widely as Phil’s mother gets out of her car to retrieve his wheelchair from the boot. Dan helps to open the door Phil’s side, and both he and his mother lifts Phil onto his seat. 

Once he is seated, Phil’s mother passes Dan a small Ziploc filled with brownie squares, and he beams at her in response. “Dan, watch Phil to make sure he’s finished up all his assignments. I don’t trust him. I’m going now, okay? Take care, both of you,” she ruffles both their hair, and Phil smiles at her cheekily, while Dan yelps and scrambles to fix his fringe. 

His mother huffs fondly at them and got back into her car as Dan lifts Phil’s book bag onto his shoulders. 

“Bye mom!” Phil waves as she pulls away. “Thanks for the treats, auntie!” Dan calls out after her. 

His mother, who is looking a little worse for wear, smiles at them tiredly, then drives off to work. 

They turn to make their way to the classroom. “Hur’ (here),” Dan hands over the brownies after taking a handful and munching on them happily. Phil rolls his eyes and take a chunk for himself. 

A comfortable routine. Suddenly his dream from last night springs into memory, making Phil blush a little. He blankly stares at the corner of Dan’s mouth, at the brownie crumbs stuck to his lips. 

Phil wonders how it would taste if he just... 

He turns towards him, and Phil snaps out of his trance. Dan grins at him as he hitches his bag further up his shoulder, and skips in front of Phil. 

That’s nonsense, Phil sighs. He wants to hit himself. He’s not going to even think about ruining this friendship with Dan. 

Phil watches as he polished off all the brownies in the Ziploc, and stuffs the Ziploc in his pocket to save the crumbs for later. “You’re only friends with me because you’re after my mom’s snacks, aren’t you?” Phil teases. 

“Who says I’m your friend? Maybe I’m only friends with your mom because of her delicious treats. You just come with the package,” Dan smirks, and deftly dodges immediately to avoid Phil’s indignant swat. 

Both of them are holding their stomachs by the time they reach the classroom. 

  


Over the months, Phil realised Dan is a huge goofball, but is surprisingly helpful and cheery. 

He also realised that Dan doesn’t take it easy on him just because he’s sitting in a wheelchair. He’s almost blind to the fact that he’s physically impaired by now, and he isn’t afraid to speak up when Phil’s having a bad day, unlike some other people, who think if they hurt his feelings somehow, he will fall apart or something like that. Dan isn’t like that, fortunately. Phil likes that about him, how he can feel ‘normal’ when he’s around. 

Now it’s February, a month before the concert, and they’ve been practising harder than ever. And Phil’s having a really, really bad day. 

“Phil, this is the seventh time you flubbed that bit. You’re usually okay with that. What’s the matter?” Dan inquires with barely concealed impatience. 

Phil is feeling slightly light-headed, and his hand is quivering too much for him to control. Gritting his teeth, he checks the score again, and mentally hits himself for not being strong enough to handle this. He’s a musician, damn it! 

“Sorry. Can we try again?” 

Again didn’t work out either. Neither did the next. And after fifteen more restarts, Dan’s nerves are cracking and splitting with agitation. 

“What’s wrong with you? Have you been practising on your own? Do you even care about this?” Dan shouts, as he tugs his hair in frustration, “We’ve never perfected this movement even once! I’ve had enough!” 

A sudden surge of pain overtook Phil making him see white, and he clutches the piano to stop himself from losing his composure. He wants to scream, but he doesn’t, maintaining his silence as Dan glares at him from his place at the piano. He tries his best to relax his scrunched up features, and keep his firm hold on his violin. He feels so dizzy. 

The silence drags on. 

“Well?” Dan asks. 

Phil feels another wave of dizziness starting to take over his body, and with the remaining energy he has, he places his violin into his case gently and flips the case close. He raises his face to look at Dan one last time. 

“I... I better get home.” 

And before Dan could think of a reply, Phil grabs his violin case and steers himself out of Dan’s room as fast as he can. 


	6. 3rd Movement- Ben moderato: Recitativo-Fantasia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan’s heart wrenches, as it does every time he hears her play. She sounds so much like her. If he closes his eyes, he can just envision it. Her back straight, standing proudly with her polished maple Stradivarius, her deep purple dress glinting under the lights of the stage, and Dan ogling at her from the front row of the concert hall.
> 
>  
> 
> Her hospital bed, white like her skin, her bow shaking as she plays under the pale glow of the moonlight filtering through the blinds, and Dan hiding behind the doors of the hospital room, head buried between his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here comes the angst i guess  
> and lots of flashbacks  
> im so tired  
> i cannot maintain voice throughout a narrative apparently  
> and also  
> #LouiseAndDan'sFriendship???!!!
> 
> enjoy :)  
>  **pls inform if there are triggers that i have neglected to tag**

Dan checks his phone for the thirteenth time today, when it hasn’t buzzed even once. 

He checks his incoming calls. Nope. He checks his texts. Nope. 

He even checks his twitter, even though he knows he doesn’t have a twitter account, for extra precaution. Nope. 

_“I better get home,”_ he has said yesterday, after Dan lashed out at him in frustration. He couldn’t help it. The performance is next month. Next month, and he’s messing up during this crucial moment. 

Dan regrets it, he really does. The words were probably quite hurtful and he really should apologize. But... 

Is Phil avoiding Dan? 

For some reason, his heart feels like it’s violently torn apart. 

Or… is Phil dying? 

Dan didn’t realise it before, but Phil hadn’t really mentioned why exactly he needs to use a wheelchair. 

Three days later, Louise finds Dan playing by himself in Practice Studio C. The Song of the Lark, by Tchaikovsky. The third month in his set of twelve piano pieces depicting each month of the year, known as The Seasons. 

He sways uncharacteristically, the notes barely audible through the double doors of the studio. The piece His fingers barely touch the keys, just ghosting over them, like his spirit isn’t in this room, but far, far away. 

Then, in the middle of a phrase he stops, head bowed. 

Cautiously, Louise pushes the door open. She approaches him gently, placing her hand on the piano. 

“Hey.” 

“...” 

“One more month, huh? How’s it going with Phil?” she asks, even though the answer is pretty obvious as it is. 

Dan’s glazed expression says more than any words can, and he scoots forward on his piano stool. Louise sighs, bending and taking out her violin, moving to place her case on the floor. She holds up her instrument. 

“I can play with you,” she offers. 

  


_“Now Louise, that’s not how you should hold the bow,” Dan’s mother said as she reached out to adjust the little girl’s grip on her violin bow, “Relax your knuckles. Think of it like holding a quail’s egg in the palm of your hand.”_

__

_Louise’s hands were shaking slightly, but Dan could tell she was trying her best to put on a brave front. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, breathed in deeply and relaxed her fingers._

__

_Dan’s mother smiled, “That’s it, my girl.”_

__

_An influx of emotion overcame her, and tears gushed involuntarily from her eyes. Louise lunged forward to hug the bedridden woman tightly. His mother’s eyes widened, but she smiled and caressed Louise’s blond locks gently, allowing the girl to weep into her chest. Dan watched in silence, wanting to bawl but unable to do so._

__

_“How much time do you have left?”_

__

_“Enough to see you grow into an accomplished and beautiful violinist.”_

__

_“How long is that, exactly?”_

__

_His mother’s eyes glistened with an emotion Dan could not identify, but she remained silent, holding Louise tightly._

__

_When she was ready, Louise finally pulled away and picked up her violin again. Dan’s mother regarded her with proud eyes, and Dan felt a wretched clawing in his chest._

__

_Dan adjusted her blankets, and she settled against the pillows with a sigh._

____

_“Let’s start again from the top, shall we. One, two, three...”_

___  
_ _ _

Dan starts to play the first four bars, and Louise joins in, the melody twisting in it’s wake, deep, and filled with a certain longing, yet tragically beautiful. 

_____ _

Dan’s heart wrenches, as it does every time he hears her play. She sounds so much like her. If he closes his eyes, he can just envision it. Her back straight, standing proudly with her polished maple Stradivarius, her deep purple dress glinting under the lights of the stage, and Dan ogling at her from the front row of the concert hall. 

_____ _

Her hospital bed, white like her skin, her bow shaking as she plays under the pale glow of the moonlight filtering through the blinds, and Dan hiding behind the doors of the hospital room, head buried between his knees. 

___  
_ _ _

_“Have you been practicing hard?”_

______ _ _

_“Yes mother. I am now working on the new prelude-”_

_______ _ _ _

_“Liar! Your fingers are too unblemished. These are not the hands of a musician,” his mother had a wild look in her eyes. She raised a quaking hand to Dan’s face, the IV tubes slinking and coiling at the feet of her bed, her bandaged wrist glinting silver in the April morning mist._

________ _ _ _ _

_She reaches out to hold Dan’s hand in her’s, lining their palms up together. “Your fingers are almost as long as mine, boy,” she breathed, “Such fine fingers they are- such slenderness and gracefulness. They would be such fine fingers for a musician.”_

_________ _ _ _ _ _

_Dan examined the back of his palm that was pressed against his mother’s. He examined the soft lines of his knuckles, his long and subtle fingers, and the tan pigmentation of his skin. A familiar sight, for of course, he had examined his hand countless of times._

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Then he examined the palm pressed up against his. His mother’s._

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_It was almost unidentifiable. Her hand: her talon, which was grooved with thick veins that protruded out of her trembling muscles, blue and purple blemishes under her muted skin, nails bitten raw, joints calloused, and fingertips marked with streaks of scarlet._

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_How can such unsightly hands create such beautiful music?_

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Such ugly hands._

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Dan wanted to run, run far away. Being a musician comes with much too high a cost. He wanted to leave, but as he tried to shrink away from her touch, she lunged to seize Dan by the wrist. He struggled to escape her grasp, and she strengthened her vice grip on his forearm, leaving behind angry red crescents in his skin where her nails dug deep into his flesh._

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Dan flung his arm out at his mother, causing her to lose her balance and collapse back onto the her bed. Her skeleton complexion was not one he recognised._

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_And with one last glance at his mother, he ran out of her room, the pounding of his footsteps echoing throughout the hospital corridors._

_______________  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The piece continues with the second movement, its many themes gliding and swirling, colliding and clashing together, refining and denting the musical tapestry. He looks up at Louise’s figure, bent in concentration at the scores, both hands moving in unison. 

_________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Dan breezes past the various virtuosic displays across the black keys, and he picked up the rhythm, as his mother did in the recordings, and as he and Phil practiced. 

_______________  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Emptiness. An indescribable emptiness. And immense emptiness._

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_He did not touch the piano for months. He did not dare to. At least not before he went to see her one last time._

___________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_All was silent around him, but his blood was roaring in his ears as he stood outside the hospital room. Hesitantly, Dan raised his hand to knock on the door, but before he could do so, a strange noise came from inside._

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_The familiar yet foreign scratching of horsehair on steel strings, the wavering notes... this is the Frank sonata. The final movement. But, unlike any renditions of the sonata he’s heard before, the melody was not airy and heavenly, and did not weave smoothly and effortlessly between the bow and strings._

_____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_It was dry, gritty and hauntingly slow. Each phrase seemed to be played with every ounce of air she had in her. The notes, like her, moved with vehemence, tumbling over the hospital beds and toppling out the hospital window, to a place far away, where the polished wooden floors glint with opportunity and anticipation._

______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Then Dan heard her bow shook violently, and she let out a hacking cough, choking on the almost year-old rosin that fell from the hairs._

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_The coughing drifted through the hush of the night, incessantly. She seemed to be in a perpetual struggle with her body._

________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Dan shook himself out of his stupor, and wrenched the door open to the sight of his mother, thin and fragile and bathing under the golden glow of dusk, staring into the distance through the sealed hospital windows. Her once healthy long hair was cropped and greying and she was leaning heavily against her pillow. Her violin was sprawled across her duvet, and her bow had fallen to the ground amidst all the commotion._

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_And although she did not acknowledge Dan’s presence, a single telltale tear ghosted her cheek, as she croaked out,_

__________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“I’ve done it, didn’t I.”_

_________________________  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

No, Dan thinks to himself as the final movement draws to a close, you hadn’t done anything but love me, and you loved me with all you heart. These memorise have not plague him in years, but then again, he hadn’t been playing with Louise, hadn’t been listening to his mother’s records, hadn’t even brought up the Franck sonata for years, before Phil came into his life. 

___________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Can't you tell? This is for you, Ma. Thank you for everything. 

_________________________  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Dan remembered getting dressed in his nicest clothes for the occasion. The material was kind of scratchy, and it was a size too small since he’s grown quite a bit since he’s last worn it. In his hand were flowers: seven dainty, blooming daffodils. He’s counted them thirteen times. His father remained in sombre silence as he wove through the haziness of the spring morning fog, and they rolled up and down the sloped streets of Reading to a little family church on the other side of town. They had to arrive extra early to get ready, but a few people were already there: some were familiar turned woeful faces, others solemn and formal strangers._

____________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“Ma, here,” Dan whispered as he kneeled in front of the large photo, and carefully laid out the flowers, “Daffodils. Your favorite.”_

_____________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Dan looked down at the white petals and leafy green stems. His mother had always enjoyed the simple beauty of these flowers, and there was always a vase bearing a few stalks of daffodils in his line of sight as he practiced the piano in the study, or when he stayed up to listen to his mother practice late into the night._

______________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_He felt a sudden urge to run, far away, to pretend that she’s still here, that if he went home he would find her in the study, busy polishing up her Franck sonata to perfection. She would turn towards him and smile brightly, an energetic aura surrounding her as she says to him, “Did I wake you up? Sorry, Dan, it’s still too early. Be a good boy and go back to bed, okay?”_

_______________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_His gritted his teeth to hold back the tears threatening to leak out of his eyes._

________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_A sudden wail made him turn and he saw Louise, the little girl his mother’s had tutored for kneeled in front of her picture, clutching her violin case to her chest. “Why did you leave me? You haven’t taught me enough. I haven’t shown you enough. You haven’t heard me at my best, you hear? I will become the best violin player,” she cried, “Just you wait. Just you wait. I’ll show you!”_

_________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Dan looked down at his hands. His unblemished fingers laid out, limb and pale. His skinny, bony fingers. He thought about how his house has been so devoid of piano music for the past few months. He thought about his father, and his wrinkled features, downing the beers in the mini fridge at an astounding rate in the middle of the night, silent and alone, his hands trembling as he crumpled each can after he emptied them in turn._

__________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_And then he thought about his mother’s hands._

___________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_He clenched his fists, and looked up at the picture of his mother, young, beautiful, and posing with her violin in front of the Sydney Opera House._

____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_You haven’t seen me at my best, mother. I know you can hear me from heaven. And one day, when I join you, you wouldn’t even recognize me. I’ll play your sonata with you. I’ll keep up with you, you’ll see, Dan thought, Just you wait. Just you wait!_

___________________________________  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Dan hammers out the last octave, and Louise draws her bow. Dan stares at his hands, sweat dripping from his forehead at the exertion. Louise pants heavily to catch her breath, and she clutches her violin to her chest. 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

And in the silence, they both wonder if she could hear them right now. 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Did she hear how they grew? Is she satisfied? Are they hands bruised and battered enough? 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

But then, Dan thinks, maybe she’s not waited long enough. The piece was blemished and sloppy, Louise has evidently not practised as much as Phil and Dan had, and Dan messed up multiple times himself during the second movement. 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

When he eventually turns to Louise, she’s already looking -grinning at him. “Again?” 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He nods. “Again.” 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

They did not hear the sound of large wheels speeding away from them down the corridors. 

___________________________________  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Over the next few weeks, they polish the piece to perfection. 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Or at least, Dan does, and Louise watches him with eyes downcast, as they play the piece again and again, working up a good sweat before leaving and agreeing to meet tomorrow. 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

At times, Dan would stop after a movement and just sit, slouched over the piano, wondering where the heck Phil is. 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Dan does not know what happened to his partner, nor does he know how they were supposed to pull through the performance project. Phil seems to have dropped off the surface of the planet. And as Dan contemplates over this, Louise allows him to, with all her patience, and Dan feels grateful yet extremely guilty. 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Although it was mostly Louise filling in so Dan could work on his timing and velocity, she looks exhausted. It is no wonder. She practiced with her partner Zoe all morning to perfect their duet, just to help Dan later when she is supposed to take her break. 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Really, how did they deserve Louise? Him and Phil. 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

As they play the piece, repeating it to their satisfaction, Dan pays close attention to the sound. He has played together with Louise on multiple occasions, and she is one of his closest musical fellows, especially since they were both heavily influenced by his mother. 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He must admit, they do sound good together. 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

But, for some reason, he longs for the sounds of Phil’s Stentor as compared to Louise’s Yamaha AV5. 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I fucked up, didn’t I,” Dan mumbles to himself after a long afternoon of practising. 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Fucked what up?” Louise works on applying more rosin to her bow. 

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“With Phil,” Dan gazes towards his mother’s book, and feels a painful twisting within his chest.

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Louise glances up at him, but said nothing.

_____________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	7. 4th Movement- Allegretto poco mosso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was expecting a witty response, but instead, Dan’s eyes widen, and he moves even closer, causing a rare heat to rise on Phil’s cheeks.
> 
> His eyes are so brown...
> 
> “Sickly?” Dan mumbles, somewhat dazedly. Then suddenly, his irises snap into focus, zoning on Phil, and Phil alone.
> 
> “Hey. Are you sure you’re not hiding something from me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Yip, another long chapter  
>  Warnings: Phil's depleting self worth is kinda sad (I can't believe I wrote that tbh he's such a sunshine bean)
> 
> Anyways, enjoy and all that...
> 
> Just the epilogue to go after this...
> 
> ...
> 
> ...
> 
> ... :)

The doorbell calls out to him. Who can it be? Ding dong, ding dong!

Phil tries moving from the sofa to answer the door. He tries, with much struggling and flailing around, and accidentally striking the fan (which results in a ear-splitting crash). He slumps back onto the cushions, exhausted and dripping with sweat.

The doorbell chimes again, seemingly taunting him. Ding dong, ding dong! 

“Who’s there?” he croaks out, throat parched from lack of use. 

For a minute or so, there was no reply. Then, when Phil was about to just forget it and go back to watching his love drama and trying to feel less dead, he hear something akin to a murmur. No, it can’t be, it can’t be- 

“Dan here.” 

  


Fifteen minutes of Phil struggling to remember where his mother hid their spare keys later, Dan is standing in the doorway, a white plastic bag in one hand, and his music folder in the other. 

To be honest, Phil doesn’t want to deal with him right now. He doesn’t know if he can deal with him anyways, regardless of if he wants to of not. He feels much better than he did in days now, physically, but his heart squeezes just at the sight of Dan, and twists terribly in his chest when he remembers seeing Dan and Louise in the studio, playing the sonata- their sonata. 

He wants to play it with Dan. He’s even practiced it secretly, in the darkness of the abandoned garage, where neither his parents nor his neighbours can hear him. He’s imagined dressing up prim and proper in his father’s old suit with Dan, waiting nervously backstage with Dan, playing under the lights of the city hall with Dan, bowing with Dan, looking up to the same sight of the audience with Dan, hearing the deafening applause... 

He’s sure Dan is going to tell him that he’s already decided, Louise going to play with him because he wants to actually do well in this concert, for his future, for his destiny; not for some stupid sediments that Phil is not even sure he shares. 

And it hurts, it hurts so very much. 

Dan is looking at him now, expression unreadable. 

Well- “looking” should be deemed inappropriate as a fitting description. His eyes seem to bore deep into his skin, scrutinising every inch of him, making him wriggle under his stare. Dan grabs him by the wrist to steady him, and Phil freezes involuntarily. It’s been so long since any physical contact between them, that he can’t help but melt into the faint warmth emitting onto his wrist from Dan’s palm. 

Phil detects a blossoming cherry stain growing on Dan’s cheek as they stand in silence, faces not ten centimetres away from each other. 

He lets go after a few moments, looks away and says, “You look better than the last time I’ve seen you.” 

Phil’s sassy side awakens from the ashes, as it always does when he’s with Dan. 

“Are you hinting that... I look good? Oh Dan, I know, believe me! Who can deny this skin of sickly pale beige?” Phil quips. Oh, how he misses this light-hearted, bantering fun. 

He was expecting a witty response, but instead, Dan’s eyes widen, and he moves even closer, causing a rare heat to rise on Phil’s cheeks. 

His eyes are so brown... 

“Sickly?” Dan mumbles, somewhat dazedly. Then suddenly, his irises snap into focus, zoning on Phil, and Phil alone. 

“Hey. Are you sure you’re not hiding something from me?” 

  


_Nine year old Phil was the very epitome of zeal. He practised night and day, vigorously, unfalteringly and tenaciously, perfecting his masterpiece._

__

_His first competition. He was very much aware that most of his competitors would have participated in a competition before, be it once or a million times. But his decision was resolute; he would carry the music as long as the music carries him. He would make it his music, and people would listen to him!_

__

_The violin case is opened before the first rays of sunlight stream in through the windows into Phil’s room, and would not be closed anytime soon, until well into the murk of the wee hours. He moves around for a constant change of scenery: from his room in the mornings, to the backyard in the afternoon, to the living room after supper, to the silent retreat of the garage after his father goes off for his night shift at his job._

__

_He hands have been shaking more and more frequently, and he’s dropped his bow on more than one occasion._

__

_Even his violin teacher commented on this. “Phil, your technique is wonderful and smooth, and your Accolay is beautiful and deep and dark: but you sound more like you’re dying than singing out your emotion, and your bow is shaking too much. Take it easy, okay?”_

____

_Take it easy? Bah, Phil was going to prove his worth, and he was going to be remembered! He had to win, so no, he won’t take it easy. He can’t!_

___ _

_Phil watched as the last competitor walked into the wings. After closing his eyes for a while, he adjusted his suit and gave his mother the signal, and he was wheeled onto the stage._

______ _ _

_He felt the hesitance in the applause he received, but he didn’t let that get to him. He inhaled deeply, and raised his left arm, supporting the violin with his chin. He shakily checked each string. G D A E._

_______ _ _ _

_He nodded, and turned towards his accompanist._

________ _ _ _ _

_The piano began its rollicking bass, and Phil raised his bow._

_________ _ _ _ _ _

_The first note, deep and soulful, filled the hall. Phil squeezed his eyes shut, trying to project all his frustration and grief over the years into his playing. As the piece grew more intense and difficult, he leaned forward and played with all his heart, not missing a single note. His violin was singing, crying out to the audience “Listen! Listen to me! Love me!”, and he felt more alive than ever!_

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_He was so absorbed in his playing, he barely registered the subtle shaking of his bowing hand until he was playing the last section of the concerto. The fast pace and the growing dynamics made all the shaking all the more evident, and Phil started to panic. He was so close to finishing! He must finish strong! He must play! He cannot stop! He’s practiced for so long, so hard! He practised every day, all day! He-_

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_His finger barely reached the high E-note when his left arm crumbled out of exhaustion._

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_He watched as his violin slipped out of his grip, and with an ear-splitting clatter fell onto the golden wood floor, the blinding lights of the stage reflecting into his eyes._

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Then, Phil’s world turned dark._

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_A week later, his eyes opened to the teary, blubbering mess of his mother and permanently creased-forehead of his father. He did not win that big competition that year, but he did the next year, and the year after that, and that’s how Momo discovered his talent._

__

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Anyways, after much embracing that greatly restricted his respiratory passage and more nervous warbling from his mother, his parents thereby ban Phil from practising the violin for more than 2 hours a day._

__

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_But of course, when does he ever listen?_

__

__

____________  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

“So you’re telling me,” Dan says, after staring at Phil for a minute or so after his recounting of his first competition, “that you can collapse in exhaustion at any point in your career as a violinist, and even lose consciousness for an entire week, just because you have been practising the violin too much? And you can die from this? Shit, Phil, why do you even play then? Don’t you care about your health? Don’t you want to take care of yourself and not endanger your condition even more? This is no joke, Phil. It’s a matter of life and death!” 

__

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

Phil generally avoids sparking conflict in any given situation, as that’s just the type of person he is. But now, he feels a sharp stinging above his brow, and he feels like his head is a bird caught in a macabre of a thunderstorm. 

__

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

“Why do I even play? Why do I play music when it can kill me?” Phil grits through his teeth, “Imagine this. Imagine you were born with legs that don’t do what legs do. You are always hungry and tired, no matter what you eat. You have no interest in anything, because nobody takes you seriously anyways. Your life has no worth, no point, and you constantly wonder why your parents bother working so hard to keep you alive, because what can you do? You can’t do shit. You can’t even shit without getting into the trouble of taking your trousers off, inch by inch, leg by leg. You’re worthless, and every single person and every single little thing around you reminds you of that same fact everyday. 

__

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

“Then, something beautiful, something magical came into your life. Something that can allow you to express your inner thoughts and emotions through charming tunes, without using any words. People don’t care what you look, or how you shit, or how happy you are with your shitty life. People just care about what you can do to your sound! You can be blind, deaf, dumb, obese, wheelchair bound- you can even go into critical condition at least twice a year because of exhausting yourself on your instrument, and they wouldn’t bat an eye! They wouldn’t reject you! You are now the music, and because the music is alive, you are alive! 

__

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__

“I am alive. Even I sometimes forget. But every time I play the violin, or listen to music, I remember why I am alive. I remember my purpose, which is to share my music with the world. And the facts, they don’t matter anymore. I know them, but I can’t bring myself to care. Am I killing myself? Is music killing me? Why would these questions matter, since I feel like a bird released from its lifelong imprisonment from its cage? Why do I even need to bring myself to care? 

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“See, I’m forever stuck in a wheelchair. I can’t do sports. I can’t stand up and talk. I can’t do anything but bring my parents hundreds of medical bills worth thousands of dollars! I’m a disabled, helpless, burden to my family. My parents work their asses off to support me, and to keep me alive! I’m a waste of space! I have nothing to give! Don’t tell me you understand, you don’t, and never will! I know this sounds harsh, but really,” Phil takes in a deep breathe to calm himself, “Music is all I am, and all I can do.” 

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“No, you can do plenty of other things, Phil,” Dan pauses to gather his thoughts. “I know that you can make me and everyone around you feel better instantly when you smile. I know that you can appreciate my dark jokes and weird banter, even though our sense of humor is quite different. I know you are an extremely strong person who pulled through everything you were put through and can manage to do something with your music that draws people in like a spell. You even got into Momo on a scholarship! That’s almost as good as me!” Phil rolls his eyes at that, and Dan grins, “You’re special, Phil, in many ways, and you’re pretty incredible, don’t forget.” 

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Phil beams gratefully, and he knows if his heart is a dog, it would be barking joyously and running around in circles, its tail wagging faster than ever. 

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But the mood turns blue once again as he remembers, and his expression falls. “But you’re so much more incredible than me in every way possible. Trust me. Without music, you would just see me as some poor kid who is proof of how a disease can ruin someone’s life,” he chokes, unable to hold back his emotions. 

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Dan opens and closes his mouth, dumbfound, watching the droplets surging down Phil’s cheeks, at a loss as to what he should do. “But, but- I won’t. And you’re not. Phil, you’re not-” 

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“Without music, I might as well be.” 

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Dan’s expression is one of despair and regret, and Phil’s heart threatens to shatter at the very sight of it. 

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“I’m just taking this all out on you, I’m so sorry-” Phil’s lungs fill up with all the torment and hopelessness he agonised and endured with since way before he could play music, and he coughs heavily, his eyes spilling with saltwater. Phil huddles his crumpled face in his hands. He feels Dan sitting on the bed and shifting towards him, closer and closer, until Phil freezes in his stupor. 

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Then hesitantly, yet contently, he leans into the gentle warmth radiating from the arms wrapped around his waist, as he lets the tears escape from his times of misery. 

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Even if he doesn’t love him back, he can always take advantage of this kindness, right?

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	8. March: Song of the Lark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it’s a matter of location, but Phil sounds so much clearer than ever to Dan now. Maybe it’s because of the stage lights. Maybe it’s because Phil has been applying a new brand of rosin. Maybe it’s because Phil is playing almost desperately, giving out an energy never found in their rehearsals, crying out with his violin: Listen to me! Listen to my music!
> 
> **Maybe it’s because he’s just realised that he’s in love with Phil, and Phil’s in love with him.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! I feel do anything now! ...like, I can run a marathon now! But maybe not now... tomorrow! AAAAAAAHH *screams internally at 3am to not wake up family* I cannot? What is life before this? I can finally work on learning Japanese? I can finally resume that episode of Chuunibyou? What?
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this!!!
> 
> (when i was editing the html (and reread) for this chapter, my playlist shuffled to the ylia 2nd ed, and i almost teared up.  
> as much as i say "i almost tear up", i still seldom tear up...)
> 
> ~~I'm not exactly satisfied with this chapter, but what can I do now~~

Dan takes in a shaky breath. “Okay. Okay, Howell, steady yourself. You’ve performed all your life. You’re practiced this with Phil for months, and even when he almost died, you’re practiced this with Louise. You’ll be fine. Okay. Breathe in. Breathe out.” 

Phil rustled behind him as he struggles to change into his suit, while Dan rattles on, alternating between pacing around and facing the wall. Dan doesn’t pay him any mind. He does this every time he performs, anyways, and it’s not like he’s going to stop just because Phil’s here. Rather, especially because Phil’s here, he’s going to calm himself down. 

They ran through the sonata twice this morning, after they woke up together to the sound of the springs birds returning after their winter migration, when sprawled comfortably across Phil’s bed. Phil’s been practising fine, apparently, and he hasn’t forgotten anything even after he fainted. and almost died, which is a relief (an understatement). 

And oh, how Dan misses this. 

After numerous chanting, he turns towards Phil, who- Who looks really good in a suit? 

“Dan, you ready?” Phil’s eyes glinted with excitement as he holds his violin and bow to his chest. 

Dan wished he has more time to prepare for the impact this has on his heart, but he doesn’t. Over the PA, the emcee introduces the programme before theirs, which means they would have to stand by in the wings. Dan rubs his hands together, and took a large gulp of water from his bottle. Combs through his hair again, buttons his jacket, pats the dust off the sonata volume, and carries it to the doorway, where Phil is waiting. 

Dan eyes Phil, whose tie is just a little crooked, but it’s a good enough excuse for him to bend down closer to adjust it for him. 

He has an urge to grab Phil’s cheeks, which he easily gives into, and his hand reaches out to graze his skin. Phil freezes, face heating up under his touch. 

Then, he hears a sound like a dam breaking in the air, and Phil shakily grabs Dan’s hands and brought them to his chest. 

Dan stares into the beautiful blue orbs, and his chest flutters. 

Then their lips meet. 

It's nothing magical. Phil’s lips are chapped, and the back of his violin knocked into Dan’s chest. But for some reason, Dan hears birds chirping out their mating song, even though they were indoors. 

When finally they pull away, Phil is sprouting a full on beam, a bright rosy glow present on his cheeks. Dan’s heart soar, and he clutches the score tighter. 

“Ready now.” 

  


Soon it is their turn. Phil squeezes his hand once, and he wheels in front of Dan as they take the stage, and the audience explodes into tumultuous applause. Signaling at Dan to give him the note, Phil tunes his violin one last time, and they wait until the audience eventually falls silent. 

Dan nods at Phil and releases a shaky breath, filled with nerves. Then he starts on the soft chords again, for the last time. When Phil is about to join him, he smiles at Dan with joy and sadness in his eyes, catching him off guard, and making him focus on Phil, and Phil alone. 

Phil raises his bow, and the audience watches with hushed breaths as they fall into a trance, enraptured in the emotions he moulds and shapes with his music. 

And for the last time, Dan and Phil play the sonata, hearts intertwining as one. Playing through the four seasons of movements, that they perfected all throughout the year. 

Maybe it’s a matter of location, but Phil sounds so much clearer than ever to Dan now. Maybe it’s because of the stage lights. Maybe it’s because Phil has been applying a new brand of rosin. Maybe it’s because Phil is playing almost desperately, giving out an energy never found in their rehearsals, crying out with his violin: Listen to me! Listen to my music! 

Maybe it’s because he’s just realised that he’s in love with Phil, and Phil’s in love with him. 

Yeah, probably that. 

To his own surprise, he’s not at all frazzled by that revelation. It’s been creeping around them all along, hasn't it? 

Dan turns towards Phil as the violin enters again, and he grins back at the beautiful beam sent his way. 

The audience observe the spectacle unfold: a heated summer argument, a painful heartbreak in autumn, a chilly winter’s day, and a warm spring morning curled up against each other. They hear the lark swoop in, and all the birds chittering out to each other from all octaves and ranges, happily singing after returning home after a long winter in a faraway land. 

And their memory of the story the music told, etched into their minds, is deep, and filled with a certain longing, yet tragically beautiful. 

“Can you hear me? Did I move you?” Phil’s eyes seem to ask him, as his bow ricochet off the strings in fast, uninhibited motions, “Did I move you with the music of my soul?” 

“Yes, you nerd,” is what Dan replies with his bashful smile, “Of course you moved me. My heart struggles to burst out of my chest to join you as one in this song. You attached wings on my back, lifted me up high into the sky, and taught me flight." 

  


Once the piece reached it's end, they stood up to ear-splitting applause. The audience all rise to their feet as the two take their bow, and the whistles and 'Bravo!'s and flashing cameras continued endlessly. 

It is certainly a sight to behold. 

"We've certainly moved them," Phil laughs. 

However, in that moment, both young musicians have their sights set on only one person: each other. 

"Won’t you move me forever?” Dan whispers in the midst of the cheers and clapping, half-expecting Phil to not hear him. 

But somehow, he does. And with the brightest beam Dan has ever seen on him, Phil whispers back: 

“I guess we’ll find out, huh?”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow... this entire writing thing really just proves how terrible I am with deadlines, how I cannot write, how I cannot manage my time at all, and how I really cannot be trusted with writing fics again. I feel like I've shamed DnP and the entire fandom. I'm soooo sorry >_<
> 
> Disregarding everything above, I'm quite happy with this fic anyways. I was actually inspired to write this fic before I watched ylia in July (which is a MASTERPIECE of an anime 1000% would recommend), and after much editing to the plot and rewriting this story countless of times, I am finally able to put together something... not very notable, but something I'm slightly proud of, at least.
> 
> I would like to take this opportunity to thank my team!! Firstly, my wonderful and super cool beta, Jenna, who is really encouraging and nice, and somehow had faith in me even when I slack off and disappear for days because of how busy I am. You're awesome and I'm lucky to be working with you :))  
> Check them out (and go and follow her!!) on tumblr: [@jjhomes043](https://jjhomes043.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, our extremely incredible and talented artist, Chiara, who worked magic and made the beautiful art for the fic! Thank you so much!  
> Check them out here (and follow for more amazing art!!): [@doodlesfromthepit](http://doodlesfromthepit.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Damn. I'm about to tear up.
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr at [@emonerd-io](http://emonerd-io.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks to anyone reading this as well! I hope you enjoy (this piece of shit that is) my child! The fruits of my (six months of fucking) labour! I really don't write much, since I don't actually have the talent for this, but I feel I learnt lots from this experience! Exclamation marks! Exclamation marks!


End file.
